


Terrible Ride

by Kaikoura



Series: Terrible Ride [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: I promise I have a really happy fic planned after this, I'm so sorry, M/M, Memory Loss, Pining, brainwashed!Reaper, past reaper76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaikoura/pseuds/Kaikoura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, Jack Morrison would die here tonight, on the bitter pavement of some forgotten facility, in the cold tundra of Russia. Reaper expects some sort of validation at the realization, but for some reason he only feels his stomach churn at the thought, a bite of cold, undefinable emotion running up his spine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrible Ride

**Author's Note:**

> > "Gonna take a terrible ride  
> Crawl through the darkness tonight  
> Alone and moving faster, faster
>> 
>> Speak to me, darling, while you claw at the sky  
> Alone and dying faster, faster"
> 
> \- Terrible Ride - The Queenstons ([x](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9170838/Music/The%20Queenstons%20-%20Figurehead%20-%2034%20\(REMASTER\)%20Terrible%20Ride.mp3)) 

His foot connects with a sickening crunch, the forceful kick wrenching a weathered sound of pain from the man below him.

"This is how it should have been."

The man on the ground only sputters in response, obviously attempting some form of comeback and failing. The last kick definitely broke a few more ribs, judging by the sound. Reaper snarls as he grabs him by the front of his jacket, forcing him up.

"What, no snarky response? Nothing to fucking say for yourself? Has all that fucking bravado finally been beaten out of you?" 

The masked vigilante didn't reply, only shook slightly. The blood loss was clearly getting to him by now. Super-soldier blood and armour could only do so much against a shotgun at point-blank range.

 

* * *

 

It was a pretty straightforward assignment. Watch the point. Report anything unusual. Stay vigilant. Stay safe.

Don't get caught unaware.

Soldier: 76 hefts his gun back against his shoulder and sighs. He regards the lonely expanse of tundra with a bored expression behind his visor. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, watching some arguably unimportant, meager facility. He knows that whatever it is, Overwatch clearly cared little enough about it to only have a single agent assigned here.

Standing watch used to be one of his preferred assignments, back in the Soldier Enhancement Program. He always preferred the night shifts. It gave him time to relax, time to think. A quiet moment without the hustle and bustle of the base during the day. Of course he'd always see someone here and there, walking with purposeful steps to one building or another. Usually with shuffled papers and hurried steps, probably delivering a report or getting a signoff on some undisclosed mission. Sometimes it would be fellow soldiers, nervously looking around as they snuck between the other dormitory buildings. Some would reappear a few hours later, hair mussed and angry purple markings littering their necks, as they snuck back into their own dorms with slow, slightly wobbly steps. Those were the sightings that never failed to get a smirk out of him. They were always so paranoid of getting caught, but everyone at the base knew, because everyone was guilty of it.

Jack remembers the few times that he did it himself. Sneaking out of his bed and into the cool, crisp air in the late hours of the night, slipping between the buildings quietly until he arrived at one of the other soldier dormitories. He remembers reaching for the door, only to almost have a god damn heart attack as someone else pulls it open from the other side. He has to hold in a snorting laugh as he sees Gabriel, standing there in his sleepwear, looking slightly put off that Jack already thought to sneak over here before he did. He remembers hearing muttered insults in Spanish as he pulls the man in for a kiss, pushing him back and closing the door behind him silently. He remembers feeling Gabe's hands pulling languidly at his clothes while he pushes him towards his bunk, and the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with trying to stay quiet in a room full of sleeping soldiers. He remembers-

No.

Shaking his head with a cough, Soldier: 76 tries to clear his mind. This is exactly why he hated standing guard now. He hated the free time it gave him, hated how the piercing silence of the base at night left him at the mercy of his thoughts. The last thing he needed was to be letting himself get distracted by the past. This wasn't the base. There was no SEP training. There were no bustling recruits with arms full of papers to be signed. There were no soldiers with late night rendezvous and stolen kisses. There was no Gabe-

Again he snaps out of his memories, cursing. Out of the corner of his eye, he knows he saw something move. Swears he saw a small gust of pitch black smoke, swaying gently in the cool night air as it dissipates. He swings his gun down and readies it, carefully sweeping the area with his visor. 76 isn't sure what good it'll do, he knows for a fact that his visor has difficulty picking up the man that he already knows without a doubt is here.

He's not sure why he hesitates to call it in. Maybe he's still stuck in his memories. Maybe he wants to be alone with him, at his mercy. Maybe he hopes there's some form of reconciliation between them, if it's only the two of them here. Maybe he's just letting his emotions make decisions that they shouldn't.

All of his thoughts slam to a halt the second he feels the cold bite of Reaper's weapon pressed against his back.

"Gabe-"

Soldier: 76 hears the weapon explode into action before he really feels it. He's not sure if it's the suddenness of the injury that causes it, or the sheer feeling of emptiness he feels about his former lover pulling the trigger with no hesitation.

 

* * *

 

Reaper lands a half-assed kick to the man's side that feels more like a tap. At this point he's just trying to rile him up, get a response from him, something, anything. He's honestly a little pissed that this asshole, the reason for his unbridled rage and desire for revenge, has seemingly given up so easily.

Admittedly,  he knew it was mostly his fault. A man can only survive buckshot directly to the back for so long, but this was _Jack fucking Morrison._ The man had already survived so much, how could a single shot take him down this easily? There's no way it could be over this soon. Knowing that 76 would be alone on this assignment, he came here with the intention of taking out his years of anger on the man for as long as possible. He couldn't be satisfied by simply breaking a few of the man's ribs, he needed more time.

Grumbling, Reaper kneels down and reaches into Soldier: 76's jacket, pulling out a biotic emitter. He slams it down onto the ground with enough force to almost break it, but surprisingly it activates, bathing them both in a dull warm glow. It would never be enough to fully heal the gaping, bloody mess that his shotgun turned 76's back into, but at least it would keep him going a bit longer. No, Jack Morrison would die here tonight, on the bitter pavement of some forgotten facility, in the cold tundra of Russia. Reaper expects some sort of validation at the realization, but for some reason he only feels his stomach churn at the thought, a bite of cold, undefinable emotion running up his spine.

Shoving the odd reaction to the back of his mind, he stands up and nudges 76 in the head with the toe of his boot. "Hey, still with us there? I need you alive a little while longer, cabrón."

Soldier:76 only responds with a small hiss of pain and some muttered words. Crouching down next to the battered vigilante again, Reaper makes sure to lean his knee heavily on the man, no doubt paining his injuries further. "What was that?" He takes the chin of the mounting bracket for 76's visor in his hand, forcing him to face him. "I couldn't quite hear you, Jack, you should speak up." Reaper spits the man's name out like it causes him physical pain. In some way he guesses it does, as he feels the now almost familiar sickness in his gut he gets every time he hears Jack's name. He's not sure what combination of emotions the feeling conveys. He never thinks about the rising emotions long enough to dissect them, he just pushes them aside like he always has. Just like he was trained.

A broken cough redirects his attention back to Soldier: 76. He's definitely struggling. The biotic emitter might have been a little too late to do much good, at this point. 76 leans up slightly, another cough rips it's way out of his throat as he attempts to talk again.

"I'm sorry, Gabe..."

For some reason, the simple phrase sends a shock of unbridled resentment through Reaper. He's not even sure if it's at the apology, or the use of a name long since forgotten to him. Before he even realizes it, he's on top of the man, straddling him and slamming his fist into the visor. It connects with a dull thud and sharp pain in his knuckles. "For fucking what, Jack? Which fucking thing are you apologizing for, here?" He barely even feels his arms moving as he lands punch after punch on the cracked visor, barely even feels like himself as his emotions seemingly take over. "For fucking _using me_ ? For fucking taking _everything_ from me? My job? My _life_ ? For fucking _abandoning me_?!?" Reaper doesn't even notice the hoarseness in his voice, or the blood from his own knuckles seeping into his gloves. He doesn't even feel his arm pulling back for another blow. Doesn't feel the tears staining his face, under his mask. He doesn't feel a damn thing. Doesn't feel like himself.

Something in the back of his mind is suddenly screaming that this is _wrong_. This is all fucking wrong. He feels disconnected from himself, like he's watching a movie and he's forced to watch the protagonist make an awful mistake.

Reaper rips the mask off of his face, vehemently throwing it away as though it's the reason for his current dilemma. Maybe it is. There's a war going on in his head and he doesn't know what side is what, what side is right, if there even _is_ a right side.

Soldier:76 sputters below him, taking in shaky breaths, and Reaper suddenly notices that his visor is broken, cracked in two. Reaper's hands are shaking violently, almost more than the dying man below him, as he pries the destroyed remnants of the mask off of 76's face.

The immediate and brutal crack of emotion that rips itself through Reaper's mind feels like a gunshot.

Staring up at him is the face of the man he once loved. A love that he couldn't even remember existed until a moment ago. The piercing blue eyes, although half lidded from pain and blood loss, lock onto his, and he feels trapped, broken, torn down, and immensely _warm_ , all at the same time.

He suddenly remembers. He remembers the overflowing love he once carried in his heart for this man. He remembers the nights spent wrapped together between their grim missions, nights full of laughter and smiles and happiness amid the bleak reality of the war all around them. He remembers the pang in his stomach he got every time he walked into the infirmary to an injured Jack, unconscious and on an IV, the result of his brazen stupidity and bravery getting himself fucking shot, again. He remembers associating the sickening churn in his stomach with the overwhelming feeling to _protect_ jack, to make sure this never happened again.

But he also remembers asking too many questions, about Overwatch, rumors about forming Blackwatch, about their respective missions, about the uncomfortable secrecy of it all. The unsanctioned missions, the hush-hush manner that the higher-ups regarded the public allegations levied against them. The terrified silence and paranoid glances he got from fellow soldiers when he dug just a little too far.

He remembers the day it became too much. The day he woke up, strapped to a chair, drugged out of his mind, facing a light too bright and a litany of questions. An interrogation. But no, more than that. He clearly knew too much. The newly formed Blackwatch needed a leader, a strong one who could keep his mouth shut. So they crafted one, through pain and coercion and brutality. He remembers the thinly-veiled threats to Jack every time he refused to cooperate. They knew about the relationship, hell, everyone did. But in this room, it was only a weakness, a soft spot to turn the knife.

He never remembered the sessions, at the time. Wounds inflicted were always quickly healed with the newer technology, so as to not raise suspicion. Memories were lost. New ones were crafted.

Jack immediately suspected something, always worrying. He confronted him about it numerous times, always more worried than the last time. The reprogramming in Gabriel's mind screamed at him to shut him out, rid himself of Jack, he was only a burden.

As the situation with Jack escalated, so did the sessions. They became more frequent, more violent. He grew angrier, bitter, resentful. Always taking it out on Jack. Never understanding. Always at war with himself. Why did he hate Jack again? Why had this happened? Who was in charge? Where was this all heading? Who was Gabriel Reyes?

He vividly remembers the night it all went to shit. Confronting Jack in his quarters, trying desperately to make sense of it all. He'd broken down, sobbing and shaking, looking for an answer, anything. Admittedly, he was mostly just looking for comfort, in Jack. He remembers being fucking terrified, though he couldn't remember what from. Gabriel tried his best to explain, about the missing nights, the memory loss, the new memories he deeply felt weren't his to begin with. Somewhere along Gabriel's nonstop, shaky, quickfire rambling about the state of his mind, Jack put it together.

Moments later, their entire world shattered into fire and blood and screaming and agony. The falling chunks of the facility they created together swallowed them whole, ripping them away from each other. His last moments as Gabriel Reyes were spent wide-eyed with terror and voice hoarse from screaming as his lover was ripped away from him. The last thing he remembers of Jack Morrison are his piercing blue eyes, wrought with sympathy, sadness, pain, panic, and something else he still can't identify.

Those same eyes are slowly closing in front of him now, tired, filled with the same agony and sadness.

Reaper suddenly flies into a panic, grasping at the front of Soldier: 76's Jacket and pulling him upright. "...Jack? Jack! Please, oh god, stay with me. Jack... God.. I'm, I'm so fucking sorry. Please!" He reaches over to the biotic emitter that sputtered out some time ago. Reaper shakes it violently, slamming it against his hand, trying his hardest to get the stupid thing running again, but it seems to be out of juice. He reaches into the jacket again, trying to find another one. A bitter cold races up his spine as he realizes there isn't another one.

Bolting upright, Reaper races into the nearest building and ransacks the place, looking for a first aid kid, for ANYTHING. He's not sure why he even bothers, he already knows the outcome here. His thoughts from earlier come back to haunt him. _Jack Morrison will die here tonight._

The thought pulls a pained snarl out of Reaper's throat as frustration takes hold of him. He slams the door shut to the cupboard he was searching and cradles his head in his hands. It couldn't fucking end like this. Not after he got his memories back. Not after he remembered the sheer love he still holds for the man. Reaper grabs a towel and some basic medical supplies he found and ducks back outside, leaning down by Soldier: 76's broken body. He's leaning up again, or at least trying to, like he wants to say something.

Reaper's throat is dry and his heart is sore as he looks down at the person that he caused so much undue pain and suffering. He rolls Jack onto his side. wincing as he sees the extent of the damage his shotgun wrought on his spine. He dresses the wound as best as he can, but he knows it won't do much at this rate. The shotgun blast did a number on his jacket, as well as Jack himself. Reaper also assumed he’d been wearing armor under the torn up jacket, but apparently not. He's also been steadily bleeding out for at least 30 minutes now, and the violent beating he received definitely didn't help. Reaper almost breaks down again at the thought that he could have done this to someone he once loved so dearly. He rolls Jack onto his back again, rips off his bloody gloves, and takes the soldier's head into his hands, stroking the cheeks with his thumbs.

Jack's sky blue eyes lock onto his again, but they're barely open at this point.

"...Gabe"

"Jack." His throat is tight. It's all he can seem to manage to say at the moment.

Surprisingly, despite the pain, Jack is _smiling_ at him, even if only a small one. He takes in a shuddering breath. "I love you, Gabe. Always have. Always will." His voice is so small now, so tired. His eyes slowly slide shut, his breathing shallow.

Reaper jolts as tears come unbidden to his face again. He doesn't even think twice as he leans down, scoops up the old, broken soldier, and tries his hardest to get them out of there. A watchpoint would have the medical facilities to repair him, he could be okay, they could save him. Right? He screams as the forceful shadowstep rips himself to shreds and pulls him together again. He puts all of his energy into making the sudden teleportation smoother on Jack, but almost none of it on himself. He doesn't care.

The nearest Watchpoint is still miles away. He's frantic. He's not even sure if Jack is conscious at this point anymore. He tries not to focus on it, focuses only on getting him help, and the stream of constant _I love you please don't die stay with me I'm sorry please I love you so much_ he's started repeating like a mantra in Jack's ear. Gabriel yells as the fourth- or maybe fifth, shadowstep rends him apart.

It's still too far. He doesn't have the energy.

He starts running. He doesn't know how long it's been since he started.

He tries not to focus on Jack's lifeblood sluggishly flowing out of him, through the dressings, and coating his hands where he's holding his back.

He tries not to focus on how limp Jack feels.

He refuses to focus on the fact that all the warmth left Jack half an hour ago.

He keeps running.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Cyrioci](http://cyrioci.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta! 
> 
> Yeah so a few weeks ago I basically got this prompt, with the same whole brainwashed!Reaper thing, but what if instead of slowly coming to terms with it, he more or less just snapped out of it at the worst possible time? 
> 
> BECAUSE I HATE BEING HAPPY APPARENTLY.
> 
>  ~~It's pretty much implied that Jack's dead at the end of it but I'm keeping it slightly open in case this gets well received enough that I wanna continue it.~~  
>  The series is being continued! The next part will be posted in the next few days as a seperate fic, within the same series, to give people a chance to see this as a standalone fic, if they wish. (Because, you know, dat character death angst, man). You'll just have to wait and see if he's actually dead or not c:
> 
> Also I apologize for the very stilted, stiff writing style! It's been YEARS since I've written, and even then I've never written serious or semi-large fic before. I plan to write a lot more in the coming months and get some practice!


End file.
